


Losing Myself to Get to You

by FantabulousAss



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels), This Is Not Romance (Webcomic)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Bad Romance - Freeform, Definitely unhealthy shit here, Extreme Weight Gain, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mental Instability, Might add more tags later, Not Canon Compliant, Past Abuse, Ren is also fucked up, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slice of Life, Strade is fucked up, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, bad boyfriend, btd, noncanon, suicide ideation, they are both fucked up, to be fair though this is BTD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-08-10 20:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20141809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantabulousAss/pseuds/FantabulousAss
Summary: This is an alternate universe, where these two are regular people who still manage to be completely fucked up. Strade, a softening ex-football star with a temper, realizes he peaked in high school. This does not bode well for Ren, his boyfriend since freshman year of college, who sets up an ultimatum. Strade agrees... kind of.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a problem with spelled out self-hatred, this is not the one for you. Things get really dark before they get better, and a lot of shit happens before things even look up. However, I assume that if you've read This is Not Romance or played Boyfriend to Death, you won't hate this one too much. Enjoy!

_ Hands, big strong hands, hands he loved, hands he’d held, hands he’d kissed, wrapped around his throat. Hands, hands, calluses, anger, anger, who knew he was so  _ ** _angry_ ** _ ? _

_ Choking, vision going fuzzy, he’s grunting, grunting, grunting, no, he’s  _ ** _screaming_ ** _ \- I’m hitting him, please let go, he’s not letting go  _ ** _why won’t he let go_ ** _ ? _

_ Gasping, I can’t breathe, why won’t he let go? He couldn’t hurt me, why is he hurting me? _

_ Hands off, coughing, fuck ow, my throat hurts. Air hurts but it’s so fuckin’ good, ow, fuck, give me more  _ ** _air_ ** _ . _

_ “Ren, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, fuck-” _

_ Rub your throat,  _ ** _yes_ ** _ , like that. Cough, cough, vision is coming back, he’s running away, good, get away, get away, get away- _

“Get away from me!”

`~`

Two weeks went by before Ren heard anything from Strade. That in and of itself was weird, but at least the bruises had faded.

“Ren? Um, hi, it’s me. Of course it’s me. Fuck. Um. It’s  _ Strade _ ,” and goddamn it if that tone didn’t pique Ren’s interest. He’d never heard Strade talk like that. Strade  _ didn’t _ talk like that. He never sounded… apologetic. “And I just… I know I don’t deserve it, but… I’d like to talk to you. Over lunch. Crowded area, promise. I… fuck. We’ll go to our place? Tomorrow? At 2:30? If you don’t want to, it’s alright, I won’t go there, I won’t be around at all, don’t worry. Um. Yeah. Thanks? See you there?”

That was the first voice mail he’d ever heard Strade leave because Strade just didn’t talk on the phone. Ever. But he left it there, it was important enough to call over. He could at least humor him, right? Two years at least owed him that.

`~`

Strade squashed the little flick of happiness that settled in his heart when he saw Ren walk in. He had no idea what he was going to say. He might splash his drink on Strade and just walk out. That would be fair, all things considered.

But no, as Strade got up and pulled out the chair for Ren, he thanked him, and then waited for an explanation. “This is your last chance. Don’t fuck it up.” He glared at Strade, hoping the other man could feel his anger, could maybe even pick out the fear that even just being around him caused.

Yeah, Ren was nervous. The friend he’d been crashing with had told him not to come, that Strade didn’t deserve this last meeting, that their relationship was abusive, and Ren was smart to be getting the fuck out of it. Regardless, he  _ loved _ Strade, knew Strade on a better level than his friend did, for sure, so… just hearing him out couldn’t be so terrible, could it?

With a heavy sigh, Strade sat back in his seat and slouched heavily, mounding his belly up into his lap. “I’m sorry, first and foremost. I’m really sorry. I’ve been really shitty. I know I don’t even deserve  _ this _ after what I did, so… thank you for being here.”

Ren nodded and crossed his arms. “I mean it, Strade. You touch me like that again and I’ll call the fucking cops.”

“I know.” He said, too quickly, ripping his eyes from where his button-up shirt seemed to strain around his soft middle. “I know, and I totally deserve that. Thank you… for not doing that. I… I just wanted to let you know that I’ll never, ever do that again. I got into kickboxing… for my anger.” He let his gaze slip away from Ren as a flush filled his cheeks. He’d never talked about his anger, the pure  _ spite _ and self-hatred he had felt since his accident. “I’m… not asking for forgiveness…” His voice cracked, and he fell silent for a moment, and Ren swore he saw tears, “I’m not asking for forgiveness, I don’t even know what I’m asking for.”

He laughed, then, and it wasn’t a nice sound. Ren almost flinched at it, but he steeled his back and held his glare, even though Strade wasn’t even looking at him. Strade just stared down at his little belly, avoiding Ren’s eyes.

“I love you, Ren, a-and I don’t expect that to be enough, but  _ fuck _ , I do love you.” He got up then, too fast, stumbling over the chair as more words tumbled from his mouth, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you come out here, don’t… don’t feel obligated or anything, please, you can go, do you want to go?”

He couldn’t meet Ren’s eyes because of the painful churning of emotions and physical pain he felt just standing there. Ren hadn’t stopped glaring the whole time, and it made him feel sick. He felt the whole restaurant staring, wondering what was going on, what was wrong with him, why had he stumbled, why was he stuttering again, why wasn’t he saying anything? He deserved every fucking second of the humiliation, the staring, but he couldn’t take it anymore, there were too many feelings, too many issues, he couldn’t just stand there and  _ know _ everyone was staring-

“I’ll be over tonight at six.” Ren said, eyes softening only a little as he watched Strade, who snapped to attention at his words, big hands, scary hands, twisted over themselves, a nervous gesture Ren had never seen before.

“Y-you will?” The rushing in his ears subsided, and a quick glance around showed nobody was staring at him except Ren.

“Yeah, knucklehead, I will. We’ll set some boundaries. Together. Okay?” Ren offered him a small, almost shy smile.

“Sounds good.” Strade couldn’t bring himself to return Ren’s smile, he lacked the confidence for that, and instead nodded, seriously, yes, he was taking this seriously.

`~`

Six came too fast and not fast enough. The conversation they’d had sat around Strade’s kitchen table was halting, awkward, and Strade was silent most of the time, seriously nodding whenever Ren asked about a particular boundary. The boundaries were good, they were solid, and Strade swore he’d uphold them.

Ren believed him. He looked apologetic, paused before every move and even  _ asked _ Ren if he could hold his hand. This was definitely a new side to Strade, one he could actually work with, he hoped, on their problems.

“So… will you live with me again?” And his voice was so different, it was quiet, measured, hesitant, even. “You don’t have to! I understand if you don’t want to, but… do you want to?”

“It’ll be nice to get off my friend’s couch, that’s for sure.” Ren offered another smile, one that Strade hesitantly returned, now that he seemed able to actually look at Ren. Said friend had wanted to kill him for running back to Strade, but she didn’t know Strade, didn’t know what made his boyfriend tick. So what if it was unhealthy? All relationships took some work, right? “Yes, Strade, I’ll move back in with you.”

“Thank you, I promise to be good.” Strade said, face turning serious again. Ren believed him.

“I have… one more thing to talk to you about.” Ren was hesitant to talk about this, but Strade was being so good, so compliant… he felt like he could take the chance. “I like your little belly.” He cleared his throat. “I like your little belly, and I think… I think you’d look really nice with a bigger one… if… you don’t mind.”

Strade stiffened, jerked his hand away, hiding it in his lap as he looked down and away from Ren. At the mere mention of his little belly, the softness that gathered at his middle and pushed out at his buttons, he felt the heat of humiliation burning his cheeks and shoulders, felt his stomach twist hard enough to nearly make him gag. He hated that part of him, that softness. It was nothing but a reminder of his accident, the path he could never take, the places he could never go, not because of the belly, but because of the injury that had caused it.

Ren saw him physically react to the suggestion, breath quicken and jaw clench. He saw Strade’s arms tighten around himself as if trying to hide that part of him, as if Ren didn’t know it existed. He felt his own heart start racing when he saw the unfocused look in Strade’s eyes, arm muscles tighten and loosen as he sat there and stared off. It was concerning, and Ren wanted him to stop before he panicked and something worse happened, “Strade. Strade! Relax. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Ren’s voice pulled him out of… whatever that was. His arms loosened, and he rubbed his right arm with his left, trying to calm the chills. He wanted to say no, but after what he’d done, after what he’d put Ren through… he could handle some weight gain. He could handle more softness, he supposed. He wouldn’t like it, but it didn’t much matter what he liked, did it? This was for Ren. This was a sacrifice for  _ Ren _ , the man he loved, the man he  _ hurt _ because he couldn’t keep his shit together. “Absolutely. I can do that for you.”

The look on Ren’s face when he said yes, oh it made his heart hurt. He didn’t mind doing it, if Ren could look at  _ him _ like that. Excited, happy and even a little turned on, yeah, he couldn’t mind it that much if Ren could look at him like that.

`~`

Fifty eight pounds and barely six months later, however, Strade was having twelvth thoughts. He could barely look at himself in the mirror anymore. He’d sized up three times, and was quickly outgrowing his 3xl shirts. His pants of choice were sweats, as they lasted a little longer, thanks to the elastic, but he could feel those starting to strain again as well.

He gained weight extremely easily, which he’d known before, while he was recovering from his accident, but with the effort that he poured into it, he was still surprised by the rate. He felt huge, ungainly and a little unsteady on his feet at times. Getting to his feet was harder, now that his little mound of a belly had gone from soft and ignorable to huge and cumbersome, getting in the way of everything. The other changes his body had gone through were just as easy to ignore as his belly had been, at one point, though he knew it wouldn’t last forever, since Ren mentioned that he could still gain some weight.

Ren had gone from appreciative to scalding, explaining at first that it was just a part of his kink, that the humiliation was a part of everything and that he didn’t mean it, but it was hard to think that was the case when their relationship and the way Ren looked at him had changed so drastically. That look, happy and excited, had come back only twice in those six months. Once, when he weighed over 350 lbs and again after he’d overestimated the buttons on his last button-up shirt. It was probably because of how busy they both were, Strade told himself, but he missed the intimacy that they’d shared that  _ hadn’t _ been about this part of himself. Ren hadn’t said anything positive about his body since he’d busted the shirt, and even that had been laced with cruel undertones.

The worst part was that Ren hadn’t touched him since the 350 pound weigh-in, and Strade was starting to think this was a revenge plot.

Ren didn’t seem to notice that he’d dropped out of kickboxing, since he just didn’t have the drive for it anymore. Lately, it seemed like all his energy went to waking up on time for work, and not much else, so maybe the fact that Ren hadn’t so much as touched him in the last couple months was somehow his fault. They’d had sex often enough before, at least four or five times a week, but lately… Strade just… hadn’t been up for it, and apparently neither was Ren.

The problem was, he was too nervous to initiate the first touch. He wanted Ren to call the shots, wanted Ren to come to him in his own time, so the smaller, younger man couldn’t feel pressured by Strade’s presence, which he felt took up more and more of the house every day.

He didn’t need the reminder that they were on their last chance, that this was it. If he fucked up, Ren was done with him, and he just  _ couldn’t _ lose Ren. They’d been together since their first year of college, just before Strade had dropped out. He’d been the only thing keeping Strade sane for the last few years, and he didn’t know where he’d be without Ren, couldn’t imagine a life without him.

He couldn’t lose Ren, so he opened his mouth and shoved more food in it, shouldering the self-hatred and sadness he felt when he felt his chin crease and fold whenever he ate, spoke or looked down when he saw his shirts straining around his gut, when he felt his arms brush against his blubbery man boobs as he walked. He ignored the fact that all his energy went towards waking up in the morning, and making it home in time to just shove more food into his face as Ren watched and said nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strade feels like shit. Ren barely sees it.

Another six months and another 46 pounds had done nothing to fix their relationship, or the way Strade went about his day. He still spent all his energy in the mornings, waking up to go to a job he had no passion or even slight enjoyment for, knowing people were staring and whispering, looking at him and wondering why he even bothered coming in when he’d obviously be so much happier sitting at home and stuffing his face, even though that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. He had to keep the job so he could help pay for their apartment, especially now that so much of their income was spent towards him and his expanding waistline.

Ren still barely looked at him, unless to “playfully” insult him and didn’t touch him unless he had to. They hadn’t had sex in weeks, and if he was honest, he really wasn’t keen on the idea of Ren seeing his body, especially after the last time, when Ren had slapped his belly until it was bright red and hot from overstimulation and _ insisted _ he topped because Strade was so fat he’d crush him. Strade said nothing about it, even though it’d hurt. Ren hadn’t even bothered to tell him it was just part of the act. Maybe it wasn’t.

He craved at least some form of praise or positivity about his larger form. No matter how much he looked at it, how long he cataloged the changes, how much he _ wanted _ to see something attractive about his changed body, he didn’t. Maybe he _ couldn’t _. He only heard his own inner voice spit ugly words at him, especially when he was putting on freshly washed jeans, when they’d fit just a little bit too tight, pinching and uncomfortable until they stretched enough to accommodate his vast, unending body. Soon enough, though, that wasn’t a problem anymore. Clothes only fit for so long before another few pounds forced him out of them, the pinching becoming squeezing and the button refusing to meet the hole, no matter how hard he tried. It was humiliating and painful sometimes, but he accepted it as much as he could and tried to adapt.

Strade was getting tired of replacing clothes, now opting to only wear sweatpants and impossibly large shirts and hoping another few pounds would flip a switch in Ren’s brain, tell him to say _ something _ goddamn it, he was _ hurting _.

Now hovering just over the 400 lb mark, he actively avoided mirrors, only shaving when his beard started getting too hot or feeling too grimy. He’d hoped it would hide the double, triple, if he was being honest, chin, but he couldn’t help but just see Hagrid whenever he chanced a look in a mirror.

Ren didn’t even seem to notice, aside from the new activity of asking what he wanted for dinner and then buying or making way too much of it. Though Strade didn’t feel like eating anything anymore, he knew he’d disappoint Ren if he refused dinner, so he always overate, always ate more than Ren expected, hoping for just one word of praise, just one hint that this really was something he wanted, just _ one _ word of genuine encouragement.

And yet, still none came.

`~`

A year and a half after hitting 400, Strade sat miserably at 520 pounds. Those impossibly too large shirts had gotten too tight 8 months ago, and now he wore nothing but yet another larger size of huge tee shirts and more huge sweatpants. He’d just been laid off after too many tardy days, too many missed days where he did nothing but sit around and eat until he hurt, eat until he felt sick to his stomach, once until he actually threw up, cleaned up and started over again, all while waiting for Ren to come home, waiting for that _ one _ positive word from the man he loved. A word that still hadn’t come.

The day he got laid off, Strade went to bed and didn’t even tell Ren until he came home and found him there. Ren said nothing but sighed disappointedly and walked out of their room. He brought Strade dinner in bed, and touched his leg, trying to get him to eat, probably, but Strade just shifted away from Ren and said he didn’t feel good.

He didn’t cry, didn’t really even feel upset as he laid there, thinking about his job, losing it and how _ relieved _ he was that he wouldn’t have to go back and see people staring, coworkers know that he’d piled on so much weight so fast, hear the chair creak under him _ angrily _ as he gently and slowly lowered himself down, knowing that one time he’d be the fat jackass that _ broke _ the fuckin’ thing. The relief almost quieted the guilt of knowing that now, all of the financial responsibility fell on Ren’s shoulders, and knowing that he’d disappointed the only person in his life that he actually cared about. Again. Despite his best efforts, and he _ had _ been doing his best, it was just… too much. Too many people staring, too many days a week, too much humiliation, too much _ effort _ , too many days where his clothes _ hurt _ and didn’t fit right and it wasn’t even worth it because Ren _ didn’t care _.

Things got strange after that. Strade took care of the house while Ren was gone, but he was always in bed when Ren got back home.

They hadn’t gone out in over six months. Strade had made a weak excuse when Ren had asked. The look of pure panic on Strade’s round face was the only reason Ren hadn’t pushed it. They hadn’t had sex in longer. Ren ignored when Strade would shift away from him, even managing to ignore it when he’d jerked away from him. Ren would say things, cruel things that made Strade’s skin crawl and his eyes sometimes prick with tears, until he suddenly stopped. Teasing that Strade had started to genuinely hate gave way into awful, awful silence. If he had ever seen the way Strade looked at himself in the mirror, he was ignoring it.

They didn’t talk hardly at all, now. The playful insults that had once made Strade flush so beautifully at the beginning now made him sigh and stare at the floor, or maybe the closet, somewhere, anywhere, but at Ren. He never came out of the room, opting to eat while Ren was at work, all so Ren wouldn’t have to watch the _ beast _ his boyfriend had become devour the food that he’d set out for Strade to destroy. Once, Ren had mentioned enjoying the way Strade had eaten, but the way he’d once watched Strade eat had stopped, and eating for Ren just didn’t have that spark or excitement anymore.

Whenever Ren _ did _ see him out of the room and walking, he noticed that he walked with a limp, and extra slow, as if he didn’t want his heavy footfalls to catch Ren’s attention. His trajectory was usually the bathroom, where he would usually only hear the toilet flush. If Strade’s odor as of late was anything to go by, it had been a while since Strade had showered or even brushed his teeth. Everything in the house remained clean, including their bed sheets and clothes, but Strade’s hygiene was clearly suffering. Noticing that just about broke Ren’s heart.

If Ren looked at Strade and he noticed, he immediately looked down, almost looking like he didn’t want Ren to look at him, and his shoulders hunched up around his ears, arms crossed tightly over where his magnificent moobs rested on the crest of his belly.

The next time he heard the shower going, he walked in, seeing Strade fully naked for the first time in just about two years. His body was absolutely covered with stretch marks, some older and silvered, but most red and angry looking; despite the urge to kiss every single one of them, that wasn’t what caught Ren’s eye the most. What caught Ren’s eye the most, aside from the way Strade attempted to hide himself behind the shower curtain, was the long, jagged scars running up and around the back and front of Strade’s legs.

He’d never seen them before, even when Strade had worn shorts. He’d just never noticed, his eyes had always been drawn to the big happy smile Strade had always worn, or the way he lit up even more whenever Ren walked into the room. It had made him feel so good, so wanted, at one time. How long had it been since his eyes lit up when Ren walked into the room, or said something to him, he wondered. When was the last time he’d even seen Strade’s eyes? It suddenly struck him how terrified Strade looked then, the panic that he’d seen the last time he’d suggested they go out now magnified as Ren looked at his naked body, how Strade seemed so focused on just _ hiding _ from Ren, and that… made him a little sick.

He wasn’t oblivious. Ren knew their relationship was nothing like before, but he’d thought it was alright. Strade kept piling the weight on, so he figured he was learning to like it, but now he saw Strade’s behavior for what it was. He was absolutely miserable, withdrawn and _ scared _ of Ren now, maybe even scared of _ disappointing _ him, and that made Ren’s stomach turn.

Strade still stood there, with the water running, staring at the floor or what he could see of it and waiting for Ren to say something, anything, knowing, just _ knowing _ this was it. This was the point where his world caved in and Ren was done with him. His eyes started to water with burning hot tears, so he looked at where the ground would be if he could see it. “I…”

Ren shook his head and turned around. “Shower, honey, shower and we’ll talk.”

Strade didn’t need much convincing, eager to get his big body behind the curtain, away from Ren’s eyes, hidden away from any and all criticisms except his own, which roared at him while he showered, punishing himself for letting Ren see, becoming complacent with not needing to lock the door, lock himself away like the awful, ugly secret he should be.

Ren sat on the couch in the living room, waiting for Strade to join him. When Strade finally walked out of their room, he looked at the way Strade walked, what he was wearing, and even where he looked as he entered the room.

He stared down at the ground, watching where his feet would be underneath his gut, until he sat down next to Ren. His sweatpants and tee shirt were worn and soft, the cheap fabric feeling nice, comfortable, even if it was from the cheapest big and tall website Ren had been able to find for Strade. There really wasn’t much room between them now, and that thought made him warm pleasantly, despite the obvious tension in the room. “Strade… are you okay?”

“I… yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” He didn’t sound alright, his voice was raspy with disuse, and Ren remembered again that Strade had been fired just a little while ago, knowing without being told that Strade hadn’t stepped out of their apartment since. Had they really not spoken in so long?

“Strade, you don’t have to lie to me.”

Strade sighed hard, coughing quietly and dropping his shoulders, still not meeting Ren’s eyes. “I’m not lying. I’m fine.”

Ren knew he was lying. Ren _ knew _ he was lying, but he dropped it. He let the matter go because he knew pushing Strade could be dangerous. He didn’t want Strade to get angry and snap at him, maybe even punch him.

Little did he know that Strade just internalized everything. Where he used to feel rage, he now just felt… sad, fat and _ wrong _ , as though he didn’t belong, never belonged _ anywhere _ other than hidden away in their bedroom. Instead of anger, he only felt that it was right that he was in this situation, sad, fat, useless and stupid; too afraid to speak up, too afraid to even ask the worst question, the question he somehow knew the answer to. _ Do you still love me? _ Of course the answer was yes, right? But… things hadn’t been the same in a very long time, and he just _ knew _ that was his own fucking fault.

He knew the truth, though. The real truth was that he _ missed _ Ren. Missed the way they were before. When they were good, they were good, it was just when he was bad, and stupid and couldn’t keep himself together that they ever had any problems… He missed the way they would sleep together, the way Ren would hug him from behind in the kitchen or in the bathroom as he brushed his teeth. He missed the way Ren’s hand would fall on his skin and he wouldn’t feel his stomach leap into his throat and jerk away from him, lest Ren _ really _ feel his fat, heavy body for the disgusting lump of flesh it was... He missed the casual kisses they would share _ everywhere _ , not just in their apartment, but he would settle for just _ one _peck on the cheek in their apartment now. He couldn’t remember the ease he used to have as he walked through his own apartment, couldn’t remember what it felt like to even move without the big sack of lard hanging off his torso and every disgusting, flabby bit that came with it. 

Strade knew he was _ lucky _ to have Ren back, knew he didn’t deserve Ren after all the shit he’d put him through, but he just… he selfishly wanted _ something _ , a hug, a kiss, _ fuck _ , even just a positive word. A single positive fucking word would be enough for him, would make it all worth it, but he knew he didn’t even deserve that. He deserved the way he felt now, too-big and clumsy and _ huge _ , room filling, swelling, swelling, until all there was was Strade, all there was was his huge, disgusting body. He deserved the way Ren _ glared _ at him when he heard his big fat steps tremble their way into the room.

He knew he deserved it because he still wasn’t even _ good _ . He couldn’t start a conversation with Ren, nothing he had to say was important enough. He couldn’t touch Ren, his hands were just… he couldn’t… the thought of... he couldn’t touch Ren first, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Ren jump at Strade’s slightest touch, now that he knew it wasn't a _ surprise _ that caused the cute little jump. It’d been fear. It’d always been fear, his favorite person in the world was _ scared _of him, so Ren had to start, Ren had to make the first move, or he would think of Strade’s hands, big, nasty paws, get scared, run off or really realize that Strade just… wasn’t good enough for him.

Strade had peaked in high school. He knew that. He’d peaked just before his accident, and after that… what was he?

He was good at sports, football especially, but just before the end of football season in his senior year, he’d been hit by a car, and luckily, his spine had been spared, but his legs had been a mess. Four surgeries and 16 months of physical therapy later, he could walk, and he did. He walked onto college campus, met Ren and dropped out not too long after.

He couldn’t stand being on campus anymore, couldn’t stand seeing school colors everywhere, knowing he could _ never _ play again, not like he used to. Not the _ way _ he used to, full of fire, channeling his every awful thought, his every aggression into a tackle, into a throw, into a sprint, to get away, get away, get away from all the issues his parents wouldn’t talk about; get away from all the problems he couldn’t fix, no matter how hard he’d tried, and for a long time, he had tried to fix his problems, but the only thing that had ever worked was _ sports _.

Ren didn’t know about the accident because Strade didn’t want him to, but he knew that now, Ren had questions. He’d seen the surgery scars, and Strade could tell he wanted to know but was too polite to ask.

So, he grinned. It hurt him to do so, but Ren needed to know he was okay, needed to know that everything was alright, because Strade _ deserved this _. He could take it. So, he grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m fine. My hair’s a little wet though. I’m gonna go dry it.”

He stood, and walked away before Ren could say anything. Ren knew he wasn’t alright. He knew it… but he dropped it, because even after more than two years of compliance and complatancy, he was still worried that Strade still had that rage coiled up inside him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strade still doesn't feel good. Tensions are boiling over and Strade's feeling worse and worse.

One morning, Strade didn’t get up with Ren. He just laid there, not sleeping, just laying there and staring at the carpet.

“You gonna get up?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“I dunno. When I feel like it.”

Ren sighed and shook his head before hopping into the shower and heading to work, trying not to think about how that was the longest conversation they’d had that whole week.

When he came home, Strade was still in bed, which was not unusual anymore, but now he was sleeping. In spite of all the time he spent in bed, Strade didn’t seem to sleep anymore, so Ren took a moment to watch him and touch his boyfriend for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

To his surprise, Strade’s face was sticky, like he’d been crying. A closer look showed that his eyes were irritated, and his breath was coming out heavier than usual, he must’ve just cried himself to sleep.

Ren had never seen Strade cry. He didn’t even think it was possible, not for Strade, who had only had two moods previously: happy and angry. Then, Strade shifted, and the sheets moved, and Ren saw he was clutching Ren’s pillow  _ hard _ .

“Oh honey…” Ren sighed and gently ran his fingers through Strade’s tangled, dirty hair. His fingers caught on a knot and the pulling, though it was gentle, woke Strade up.

For a moment, Strade looked confused, as if he couldn’t imagine why anyone would be touching him, but when he realized what was happening, his gaze shifted down towards the carpet once again.

“Strade… are you okay? Did you eat anything today?”

Strade gave a little sigh and shook his head. “I don’t feel good. My stomach and chest hurt.”

“Do you want to go to the doctor?”

Strade shook his head again. “Nah. I think I’m just tired… How was work?”

“Strade…” Ren touched his face again, running his thumb over his boyfriend’s sticky cheek bone. Strade didn’t ask about work, Strade barely cared about work. He cared about Ren, how Ren was doing, and how he’d felt, not how _ work _ had gone. He knew this wasn’t right. “Are you… are you  _ really _ okay?”

Big, fat tears leaked out of the sides of Strade’s eyes, but still he nodded, saying nothing, hoping his nods would satiate Ren’s question. When it didn’t, when he glanced up and saw Ren looking down at him with a pitying expression, he shot up with speed neither he nor Ren thought he still had, feeling a fraction of the anger he’d once had. “What do you want me to say, Ren? That I’m fine? I’m not fine. I’m not fucking fine. I want to die.You want the truth? I want to fucking die. I’m  _ tired _ of this, tired of this body, tired of feeling bad all the goddamn time! No, Ren. No, I am not fucking okay.”

Ren couldn’t help but stammer out, “W-what?” Strade hadn’t spoken this much in months, and the way he spat out his words, like they were bitter, and angry, made him nervous, made him really feel the pulse in his throat, made the feeling bleed from his fingers. They hadn’t fought since the accident, and his body remembered those hands, felt his hand creep up to his throat on its own accord, even as the real hands wrapped desperately and harmlessly around Ren’s pillow.

“ _ I miss us! _ ” He wailed, clutching the pillow. “I miss us! I miss the way we were, I miss  _ us _ and I understand if you don’t, I can’t  _ blame _ you, so I just… I want to  _ die _ ! It’d be easier for all of us if I would just fucking die, alright! You could keep the apartment, you’d have somewhere to live with a  _ good _ boyfriend, who never hits you or hurts you, looks  _ nice _ in clothes, looks like the two of you  _ belong _ together, or you’d have money to move away from here and forget about me, everyone would, y’know, so it’d just. It’d be easier.” He fell quiet for a moment, catching his breath and Ren finally heard him sob, quiet at first and then louder.

Ren just sat there a moment, unsure of what to do. Strade had never used emotional manipulation before, but… it was never too late to start… Not that Ren really thought Strade would, it wasn’t his style… but…

“I’m sorry,” Strade croaked, voice muffled through the pillow. “I’ll pull myself together… I just… do you even  _ want _ me?”

That tone of voice, much like the voicemail he’d left two years ago now, was completely alien to Ren. He’d never heard that pleading tone, the way he sounded, like he was just  _ begging _ Ren to still want him, like nothing else mattered as long as Ren still wanted him.

His mouth opened but nothing came out of it. He couldn’t force his mouth to make the noises, couldn’t force the, “ _ yes, yes, of course I love you, of  _ ** _course_ ** _ I want you! _ ” out of his mouth. He didn’t know if he was too shocked, too scared or just… felt it wasn’t true.

No matter the reason for Ren’s silence, Strade’s heart burned with every silent second. He couldn’t help the sobs that came out of him, couldn’t help the way his ( _ fat, fat, fat, fat, disgusting, wrong, fat, blubber, awful, wrong, fat, obese _ ) arms clutched the pillow, he wanted nothing more than to stop crying, to just shut the fuck up and put his problems away. He was  _ fine _ , everything was perfectly  _ fine _ , even though it wasn’t, even though he wanted to throw up, knowing Ren didn’t  _ care  _ about his issues, didn’t care about everything Strade had done to impress and please him, didn’t care about the crushing self-hatred he shouldered every day, hoping for just a kind word to know that it was okay and it was the right decision and he did  _ good _ . Every second Ren stayed quiet, every second Ren grappled with his answer was another crushing heart beat, beating the knowledge that Ren just didn’t care into his brain and into his aching, overtaxed heart.

He was so tired of his body, so tired of his aching back and weakening knees. He was tired of how out of breath he constantly seemed to be. He hated the itch of the stretchmarks on his belly and hips and thighs and calves and  _ everywhere _ , hated the tender underbelly and fupa that had formed once he’d hit 300, hated the way it’d swallowed up his penis, not that he used it anymore.

His surgery scars and the Frankenstein bones underneath them ached near-constantly and he hated every curve of his new body. He hated how heavily he moved, how difficult it was just to shift his body back and forth in order to fucking get from place to place. If he’d thought he’d hated that tiny, tiny little belly before… he hadn’t known what self-hate was, back then. Hadn’t known the constant shame of just being  _ alive _ , before. Every pound was another reason to hate, every pound was another reason to avoid the mirrors, stay in bed, avoid  _ moving _ , just so he could keep himself breathing.

Eventually, Ren left the room without saying anything. Strade stopped crying a few minutes later and settled back into their bed, turning away from the door, in case Ren decided to walk back in. It was just what he’d thought. Ren didn’t want him. Everything he’d done for the last two years was for nothing. Every second of self-hatred was a waste. Each ache and pain meant nothing to Ren, because Strade  _ still _ wasn’t good enough. His mistakes still mattered, his previous violence had just been too much to forgive.

As Strade drifted back into sleep, hearing Ren walking around outside the room, he knew he had to just… be done with it. Make everything better, whether that meant he stayed… or went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! I'm trying to update this as often as possible but without being overwhelming. Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DEFINITE trigger warning. Suicide attempt, suicidal ideation, etc. If any of that bothers you or makes you feel in a way that is unsafe, please skip this chapter.

Life continued, even as Ren felt the house grow colder, and maybe a little more stale, as Strade continued working on the house, but not as well as he had before. He tried to spend more time with Strade, but he rarely left their bed and barely spoke enough to be conversational, even though Ren really, truly tried.

It was barely a week after his outburst that Ren woke up to Strade up and with his standard clothes on. He’d showered, trimmed his beard and even seemed to have combed through it and his wavy, chin length hair. He looked good, even if he was dressed in his usual grey sweats and seeing Strade look somewhat  _ normal _ made Ren smile. “You look good, Strade.”

Strade smiled at Ren and walked over, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Ren’s forehead. “Thanks. When’re you coming home?”

“Usual time. Where you off to? Got a job interview or something?” Ren, encouraged by that little smile, sat up and watched as Strade maneuvered his body around the space between his dresser and their bed, body wobbling in a way that made Ren’s dick twitch, and opened the bedroom door.

“No, I’m picking up a package. The postal service said it couldn’t fit in our box, and they didn’t even knock on the door, so. Gotta go pick it up. ‘S probably just more clothes. Want me to grab anything while I’m out?”

Ren  _ almost _ commented that he hoped Strade remembered where stores were, but he knew that probably wasn’t a smart thing to say. “No, I’m good. Thanks, baby. I’ll see you later?”

Strade grunted, before leaving the room and rummaging around the kitchen before running out the door.

It was the most normal conversation they’d had in a long time. Strade seemed to be feeling better, and Ren hoped it was because he’d aired out how he’d been feeling about his body. He still hadn’t spoken to Strade in terms of how he felt about him, but he hoped Strade knew how much he really did love him. He hadn’t been able to say it before, and he regretted it, just as much as he’d regretted how hard he’d been on Strade up until this point.

When Ren finally left for work, Strade had already been gone for fifteen minutes. He locked the house feeling lighter than he had in a long while, and with a smile he hadn’t worn in months.

Strade, however, knew his mission was a little more serious. He had a doctor’s appointment earlier in the week and had renewed his prescription for painkillers, explaining that the pain was back and it was worse. He’d staved it off as best he could, he explained, but he just couldn’t take it anymore. It made sense, given his… weight situation. The doctor’s look, one of pure, unadulterated disgust for what he’d done to his body in such a short time only cemented his decision.

It just wasn’t worth trying anymore. Ren didn’t love him, he disgusted everyone around him, including himself, and really, what else was there? Nothing brought him joy anymore. Smiling felt wrong and alien, sometimes almost painful. Trying to make himself feel better felt stupid and useless. The only thing he was good for anymore was keeping their apartment clean. He didn’t have the energy or agility for sports, nothing he ate tasted good and eating didn’t even feel good. Nothing mattered anymore, so he figured it was time to make an exit.

Pain pills were the least messy way he could think of, and the easiest to get in such a short amount of time. He expected to throw up and to mess himself, so he knew the bathroom was the place to go.

Walking into the house felt different, now that he knew it would be his last time doing so. When he had a job, Ren was usually home before him, but now that he stayed all day, he noticed how dark the little apartment was. He knew it had its positive points, though. If Ren wanted to sell it, it was enough space for a couple, without being too cramped. If he wanted to stay, it was still manageable for one person to live there. It wouldn’t be hard for another guy to move in, either. It was on the second floor, so only one flight up. It was easy to clean, smallish, in the center of town. It was a great little place. The HOA fees weren’t too high, either. It was a real bargain. A great little place.

That was why he was happy to leave it to Ren. Ren should have it, shouldn’t be left with nothing without him. They’d lived together so long, and with Strade going so suddenly, it’d be hard for Ren to find such a nice place by himself. He’d leave the house and his car, which was slightly newer than Ren’s, to Ren.

Everything else could be donated. He doubted Ren would want any of it, his prized collection of slate grey sweat pants and plain white tee shirts. He just knew Ren would be overjoyed to be rid of him, rid of the house, rid of everything that reminded him of Strade. He would move on. Easily! He would find someone better than Strade, someone who didn’t have as many issues, or maybe worked on his issues in a healthier way, maybe even someone who actually  _ enjoyed _ being fat. Someone who never hit him, never raised his voice, never did  _ anything _ bad. Nobody who would scare him. Strade sure had taught him what being in a relationship with shit felt like, he’d learn. Ren was smart. Smarter than him by a long shot.

As he thought about it, walking into the bathroom, he smiled, comforted. He was doing the right thing. He knew that. His parents might be sad for a while, but he’d barely spoken to them since they helped him pack his car for college. He’d hated their pitying faces, how they’d tried to reassure him that everything was okay, they still knew he could be who he wanted to be. He knew they were glad to see him go, knew they were happy to not have to deal with his outbursts anymore. They’d be sad for a while, maybe, but they’d be happy once they realized they’d never have to look at the news and see if he’d landed himself in jail. They’d be happy once they realized that he was just a  _ weight _ lifted off their shoulders. They still had his sister. She was good, pretty, sweet-tempered…  _ normal _ in a way he’d never been and never would be. They could just take down his pictures, burn them maybe, and let him fade away, like he’d never even existed.

He really hoped neither Ren nor his parents would blame themselves. It wasn’t their fault, he knew that. They’d tried their best,  _ done _ their best, done everything they could for him, it just… wasn’t enough. He was just… wrong. He was bad and he’d never be better, so just… better to go before he could cause anymore pain.

He drank a cup full of water first, so the pills would dissolve faster, if that was how that worked. Maybe he was stalling, staring at his reflection, an image he so deeply despised. The deep purple circles under light brown eyes, fat, round cheeks, lips that had once seemed full and attractive when he was thin seemed bloated, slippery and fish-like now. The beard at least was combed and neat, and he was glad he wouldn’t look like a total slob when Ren found him later.

Ren had seemed so happy, so proud of him. If only he knew what Strade had been planning. Maybe he’d figured it out, and that was why he was so happy. Who knew? Ren  _ was _ smart.

With a slightly trembling hand, Strade gulped the pills, three at a time until his stomach hurt with all the water. It would be better to lay down against the tub, so the mess would be easily cleaned and wouldn’t reach the door, which he didn’t bother to lock. He’d showered that morning, put more effort into his appearance than he had in over a year, all so whoever came to pick him up didn’t have to deal with the disgusting rank of his fat, unwashed body; like he did every day.

As he slowly, sorely, lowered his heavy body to the floor, leaning against the tub, feeling his stomach touch the wall and the cool underside of the toilet as it sloshed with sink water and pills. He knew it might hurt, knew he might throw up. He didn’t care. It would only hurt for such a short time, knew everyone would be fine after a while. It was the right thing to do.

`~`

Ren’s boss threw his hands up in the air and sighed. The whole building had no power. “I guess y’all can go home. ‘S nothing we can do ‘til we get power back up.”

Ren grinned and practically flew out to his car. The more he’d thought about it, the better he felt. Strade really must’ve been feeling good that morning to leave the house and Ren couldn’t wait to go home and spend time with him.

He’d missed Strade too, missed the intimacy, missed how easy their relationship had been, outside of their problems. Ren was resolved to making Strade talk about his body issues, and reassuring him. He knew it’d been too long, but he really had thought things had been okay, before. Oh well. He knew how to fix it now.

He called Strade, but he didn’t answer. Ren wasn’t surprised. Strade  _ really _ hated talking on the phone, something about his voice. He never went into it, something about having a speech impediment when he was a kid or something.

The door was locked when he got there, another non-surprise. Even though Strade was usually home, he kept the door locked, which Ren appreciated. The apartment was just as dark as usual, and Strade was probably in their bedroom.

When Ren rounded the corner and noticed Strade wasn’t in their bed, he panicked a little, until he saw the bathroom light was on from underneath the closed door. He knocked on the door, “Strade, honey, can we talk? I know we haven’t done a lot of that lately, and I’m sorry, but I really think we should talk.”

Silence. Ren’s heart thudded nervously.

“I-I know things haven’t been exactly amazing lately, and I know you’ve been thinking some things about your body and… I wanted to talk about it.”

Silence.

“Strade?”

Silence.

Ren knocked again and then tried the door. When it opened, Ren breathed a sigh of relief, until he saw Strade laying on the floor.

His eyes were closed and he was leaning against the tub, looking  _ wrong _ as Ren stared, trying to figure out what was wrong, what was off. His lips were blue, and that shocked Ren into action.

He ran over to Strade’s side and shook him as best he could, doing little more than making his body wobble, stationary. “Strade?!” His eyes didn’t even flicker, and Ren couldn’t help but stare at his blue, blue lips. 

_ Dead, dead, dead, he’s dead, he’s gone, what the fuck, he’s  _ ** _dead_ ** _ ,  _ “STRADE?!”

His eyes fluttered, something Ren had never seen Strade do, and Ren finally remembered his phone, a brick weighing down his awful work pants.

Ren shook as he called the emergency number, could barely comprehend that the loud whining was him  _ talking _ , saying something to the responders on the other line. He could only panic as he kept shaking Strade, kept trying to make him wake up, kept watching those eyes, his love’s eyes, as they struggled to open and then shut when they got too heavy. Those beautiful brown eyes that Ren hadn’t really seen in two years, when Strade really started pulling away from him, when his eyes hit the ground instead of meeting his own. They were unfocused when he could see them, and it broke his heart as he just wanted Strade to, “ _ Fucking look at me, goddamnit _ !”

He stopped when the paramedics came in, noting the bright orange bottle that Ren had managed to miss, on the counter. “Oxy.” The paramedic nodded and Ren glanced around and then back at Strade, whose lips were even bluer,  _ what the fuck just  _ ** _help him_ ** . “Sir, please leave the room.”

Ren stumbled out of the room, not seeing them shoot him up with narcan and get him onto their stretcher. He didn’t hear one of the paramedics on the team complain about his back or see another one of them smack him. He could only hear his sobs as he watched, tears streaming down his face as they lifted Strade and carried him down the stairs.

He watched and followed, barely remembering to lock the door to their apartment, only to be stopped when the paramedic said he wasn’t allowed, he wasn’t family, he wasn’t his husband. It was against policy.  _ He wouldn’t fit, not with Strade and the whole team in there. _ It was silent, but the head EMT’s facial expression said it all.

Ren felt his heart tug and the rest of his chest ache as the ambulance raced away. He stood there watching until he couldn’t see the lights or hear the siren.


	5. Chapter 5

When Strade woke up, he knew where he was. He’d fucked it up. The couple handfuls worth hadn’t been enough. The water hadn’t dissolved them fast enough. Ren knew, and he had to be alive to hear about it.

His throat hurt, nose hurt. He supposed they’d pumped his stomach, which ached with feeling empty and too full at the same time.

Strade sighed and looked at his hands, hating that he had to look at them the way they were, puffy, dimpled and soft. He coughed quietly and startled when he heard something stir in the chair next to him.

It was Ren, curled up in that shitty hospital chair, freshly jerked out of sleep. “Strade?  _ Strade _ , sweetheart, how are you, do you hurt, what the hell, oh  _ Strade _ .” He stared at Strade and with trembling hands, grabbed at the hand with the least amount of tubes and wires hooked up to it. Tears poured down his face, probably not for the first time, if the red tinge around his eyes was anything to go by, and Strade felt overwhelmed by his touch, fighting to keep himself from jerking his hand away, realizing he didn’t have the energy to move  _ anything  _ quickly.

“‘M alright, I think.” His voice was even more raspy than it had been before. It hurt to actually speak, and he realized it hurt a little to swallow.

Ren dropped Strade’s hand and practically ran to the other side of the hospital bed, where a little table with a cup of melting ice chips sat and sweated onto the false wood grain. He held them out to Strade and Strade took the cup, sipping the water first and sighing as the cool water both burned and soothed his throat.

“They just left, said you’d be waking up, but I didn’t think you would,  _ fuck _ , I didn’t…” Ren quieted and gripped his hands together, down by his crotch so Strade couldn’t see them shake. “Why’d you do that, Strade?”

Ah. The one question he didn’t think he’d be asked. Wasn’t it obvious why? Wasn’t it obvious why he’d want to go? Leave the world behind so he could just… drift from everyone’s memories?

They sat in silence as Strade waited for Ren to put it together. When he listened to the heart monitor beep almost one hundred and fifty times, he finally cleared his throat and mouthed another ice chip. “Thought it’d make you happier.”

“What? Why?” Strade couldn’t stand hearing Ren’s voice, couldn’t stand hearing that waver, couldn’t stand knowing he’d made Ren cry  _ again _ . He’d had to find Strade alive, but not quite, had to watch them try to revive him, had to follow him to the hospital, had to wait for him to wake up.

“I…” He couldn’t bear to tell him that… he’d already told Ren why and Ren had said nothing. Ren had stayed quiet. If he had  _ really _ cared, he would’ve said something, right? Instead of speaking, Strade stared at the ice chips, focusing on a drop of condensation as it ran its jagged line down the side of the cup.

“Strade,  _ please _ .” Ren’s tone was all at once pleading and demanding, saying, “ _ You owe me this _ ” and “ _ I want to make this better _ .”

He let the heart monitor answer for him for a little while. Then, he wiped the little drop away and looked at Ren, who still had tear tracks running down his face. “I had told you already, how I felt. And… when you didn’t say anything, I just figured…” He shrugged, regretting it with how sore his shoulders were. “I just figured it’d make you happy. The idea made  _ me _ happy. I… I told you, I hate being like this, I  _ told _ you, it’d be easier for everyone if I just fucking  _ died _ and went away, and you’d have the house, and you’d be  _ just fine _ without me… It’s just… It’s  _ too hard _ to do anything anymore. I’m not happy. You haven’t touched me in months. Won’t touch me. I don’t blame you, I’m fucking revolting. My parents haven’t spoken to me in years. I’m a  _ failure _ , and you’re asking  _ why _ I wanted to just end it? It didn’t hurt, it wasn’t hard.” It was the most he’d said about himself in a long, long time and his voice cracked at the end of it. He just wanted to  _ go _ and make it easier on everyone, especially Ren.

“You didn’t think it’d be traumatizing to find you half-dead in our  _ bathroom _ ?!”

“You weren’t supposed to come home until… after.” Guilt surged through him, making his fingertips tingle and palms sweat. “And… I didn’t think you’d care.”

Ren couldn’t help the little whine that came from his mouth when Strade admitted that. “Why wouldn’t I  _ care _ ? I love you, Strade!”

“You haven’t said that in over a year, since... and I… I thought…” Strade looked like he was about to cry and Ren was struck by the sight. He didn’t think it was possible for Strade to really cry, even though he’d seen it not too long ago. “I  _ knew _ you didn’t want me anymore. How could you?”

Ren just stood there, tongue thick and stupid in his mouth. Watching tears slowly course down Strade’s round cheek made Ren’s heart tug in his chest, almost to the point of nausea. Of  _ course _ he still wanted Strade, he just couldn’t make his mouth say the words.

“I know you don’t. It’s okay.” Strade was watching him struggle, and sighed, sounding so resigned that Ren felt like crying with him. “I wouldn’t either.”

“No, Strade. I  _ do _ want you. I  _ do _ . I want you and I love you and I’m  _ sorry _ I made you feel that way. I… I didn’t know how much to believe.” As the words tumbled from his mouth, he knew them to be true. The dam that’d kept him silent before broke, and he knew tears ran down his face as he babbled, “I love you, I love you so much, and I didn’t know how much to believe, and I’m so sorry, Strade, please.”

Strade watched as Ren’s face seemed to crumple and fall, tears oozing and leaking down his face before his hands quickly covered them back up, wiping as he did. He said nothing as Ren cried, breath shuddering and hands covering his face, trying, at least, to keep those tears a secret. “I’m sorry, too.” He moved his hand, palm up, as close to Ren as he could, hoping the noises it made on the stiff sheets called enough attention to the movement. His throat really was getting sore and speaking was already painful.

Ren saw Strade’s hand, gripped it and looked at Strade, eyes watering steadily, tears leaking down his face and onto his shirt. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Strade sighed and rubbed his thumb along Ren’s hand, a familiar, comforting motion he’d done when he was nervous in public. He dully wondered if Ren had known he’d ever been nervous in public, not that it mattered. When he was smaller, he’d already thought everyone’s eyes had been on him, staring at him, watching the little wobble under his shirt, wondering how he’d let himself go. As he grew, he  _ knew  _ people had been looking at him, staring, watching the enormous, circus-sized man waddle around, daring to touch his boyfriend, who was so, so much smaller and attractive, and… out of place next to the wall of lard Strade felt like he so often was. So, Strade stopped touching, stopped letting Ren’s presence reassure him, stopped feeling the comfort Ren’s little body, his little smiles, brought to him. Then, he started hanging back, so people wouldn’t know  _ he  _ was with Ren, so he couldn’t embarrass him with his ugly clothes, wide, unsteady body that threatened to knock displays over and his stupid, pathetic anxieties.

He remembered the last time he’d felt attractive with Ren in public, the last time he’d felt deserving of his boyfriend’s affections. It’d been over a year ago, and they’d been at a restaurant, because of course they had been, and he’d been staring at Ren, watching him study the menu. He’d known Ren was staring at the prices, worrying about the cost. “Don’t worry. If you like something, get it.” Ren had smiled at him, worries abated, and the love they’d shared in just that look… Strade had never been mushy, but at the time, he had been glad he was taking steps to fix their broken relationship. So what if he’d rather have the steamed broccoli than the french fries? So what if his button, which had been snug just two weeks ago, now felt like it was cutting him in half? It had been for Ren, and when Ren smiled at him, he made Strade feel  _ good _ . Better than he deserved, he now knew. So much better.

“I’m sorry you found me.” He managed to mumble, not letting go of Ren’s small, slender hand. “I’m so… so sorry.”

Ren nodded and brought Strade’s hand up to his mouth for a little kiss. “I know you are.”

“You should go home.” Strade mumbled, face flushing at Ren’s sweetness, wondering when such a small display of affection had been enough to make him flush so warmly.

“I don’t want to.” Ren shot back, Strade’s hand clutched adoringly in his own two. “I want to stay. I want to be with you. Fuck, Strade, I don’t want to leave you.”

Strade nodded, choking up again just at that simple sentiment. “I… okay.”

What else was there to say?

`~`

Ren had stayed until the nurses kicked him out. He assured Strade he’d be back in the morning, or whenever they let visitors in.

Away from the hospital, in his car, Ren sank back into the driver’s seat and felt the tension drain from his shoulders for the first time in two days. He didn’t know what to think or how to really feel. The nurses said he’d be taken for a psych eval and Ren was slightly worried about what would come up. He wondered if they’d talk about him. Probably, since Ren was pretty sure Strade hadn’t spoken to anyone else in months.

_ God _ , that thought alone made tears prick his eyes. How long had Strade just… grinned and beared it, while Ren pretended everything was perfectly fine? He’d never guessed Strade hated it so _ much _ , he’d thought it’d been fine, Strade had  _ said _ it was fine…

But now he knew Strade lied. He lied because he… what? Didn’t want to lose Ren? Ren was worth that much to him? That he’d rather suffer and die than lose Ren?

_ Breathe in… breathe out…. _

He was no help to Strade if he was just sitting in the parking lot. He needed to go home, get some rest, have something to eat. He knew he’d have to talk to Strade, make him talk, maybe even talk to a therapist. If he was honest, talking to a therapist might be good for the both of them.

So, he started towards home in a silent car, letting his brain’s frantic, confused thoughts fill the car as he drove.


	6. Chapter 6

In the end, Strade had stayed in the psychiatric hospital for two weeks, working with an underpaid but very nice therapist almost every day. She’d told him that a job might help him. A change of scenery, a purpose… he agreed. He didn’t want to spend too many days alone in their small, dark apartment anymore. He didn’t exactly want to be seen by many people either, so he was applying to a few telemarketer jobs.

Ren had been surprised when he told him as they sat casually on the couch. “I thought you hated talking on the phone.” He blurted.

“I do. But I need something different from my last job, and… it’ll be nice to be working on a non-physical insecurity.” Those were the therapist’s words, and he hoped Ren could hear the almost robotic tone he took just convey that the words weren’t his. He wasn’t smart enough for that.

“Then I’m proud of you.” Ren smiled at Strade and he ducked his head, face flushing with… pride? Embarrassment? Probably a little of both, he conceded, and looked back up at Ren, who offered to make them dinner.

“Dr. Foster said… I should have some boundaries. About… food.”

Ren nodded and looked at Strade, who’d gone back to looking at his hands, crossed and resting lightly on his belly. “Yeah? And what are those?”

Strade nibbled his lip, picking at dead skin, and then nervously started picking at a bit of loose skin on his thumb, worried that Ren wouldn’t like his answer. “That I shouldn’t eat unless I’m hungry… and whatever I  _ do _ eat… should be my choice. Portions and… everything. Are… you okay with that?”

Ren nodded, walking over and forcing himself into Strade’s bubble, resting his forehead against Strade’s, and loosely wrapping his arms around his neck. “Strade, whatever makes you feel better is what I care about. I’m… I’m sorry I pushed you so far.”

Strade’s arms, thick, heavy things that they were, were warm and so comforting around Ren’s waist as Strade hugged him and brought him closer, bringing his cheek to rest on Ren’s flat abdomen. “I’m probably going to lose weight.” His voice was rough, like he was going to cry again. “Maybe even a  _ lot _ of weight.”

“That’s okay, that’s perfectly okay. Do what makes you happy, Strade.” With Strade’s head pressed so close to Ren’s belly, Ren could easily card his hand through the loose curls that hung around Strade’s chin. “You’re so warm.” He mumbled, feeling the heat that radiated from Strade’s belly sinking into his legs where they gently pressed.

Strade gave a small grumble and squeezed Ren just a little harder. His inner thoughts were angry about the contact, saying he was unworthy, disgusting, the usual noise, but he couldn’t get himself to care for the moment. After so long without touching Ren, so long without a single touch or kind word from  _ anyone _ , he let himself soak up the attention, wanting to have as much as he could before anything else happened, before Ren could move away or try to deny him.  _ Let me be selfish goddamnit! _

After a while, they separated, Ren giving him a kiss on the crown of Strade’s head. “So… what  _ do _ you want for dinner?”

`~`

It took about a month and a half for Strade to find a job, and by then, he’d already lost some weight. It wasn’t much, not even enough to warrant the short trip they took to the mall, just to look for some nice clothes to wear for the interview. Strade had suggested it, cautious, but spurred on by how excited Ren seemed to be by it. Once inside the mall, he was quickly overwhelmed, disappointed and clearly frustrated.

Ren could see that the trip had popped the uneasy bubble of Strade’s good mood. Strade had cut Ren off as he was speaking on the way home and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Nothing that was in any of the stores had even come close to fitting him.

If he was honest, Ren was a little nervous. He’d never seen that particular expression on Strade’s face before, and the unfamiliar was truly frightening. “Strade, we can always go online and get you some clothes on some nicer websites.”

Strade let out a long, slow breath through his nose. “I... “ His voice hitched, and when Ren glanced over, he wasn’t crying, but he looked… almost angry. Almost like half of him was angry, and the other half couldn’t quite muster up the energy to match it.

“I’m sorry, Strade.” Ren almost reached out to touch him, just to rub his knee, he really wanted to, but… he was afraid of Strade grabbing him. He was afraid of Strade’s anger crashing their car… So he only offered words.

“‘S fine.” Strade mumbled, turning his body as much as he could away from Ren. He’d gotten so discouraged because none of the clothes had fit him, and the ones that were nearly his size… were more expensive. He hadn’t had this problem with the sweat pants and tee shirts and his inner voice was  _ screaming  _ at him, hateful words, awful feelings, making him wish he could just  _ hide _ from them, hide from the world, hide from those people that’d seen him, that had known he was too big, too slow, too clumsy to belong in  _ their _ space, to pretend like he  _ belonged _ there looking like that.

Ren turned on the radio, settling his nerves with the sounds of NPR. “Like I said, sweetheart, we can go online and grab some nice clothes on a reputable website and you’ll look nice and feel better too. Alright?”

Strade sighed, shifting his body as much as he could, feeling suffocated in the car, like the center console was pinching his side and his love handle could force the door open at any time. “I don’t… want to buy clothes online.” He admitted quietly. “I wish I could just… walk into a store and put clothes on.  _ Any _ store.”

That tone of voice made a hard pang go through Ren’s chest and throat, leaving a sourness in his mouth. The sadness, the self-loathing, it didn’t take a genius to see how much this had affected Strade. “I’m sorry, Strade.”

The car was quiet the rest of the ride home. They  _ did _ order clothes online, with expedited shipping, to be sure the clothes got there before the interview.

Strade was better in the morning, forcing himself out of bed so he could at least shower, another tip his therapist had given him. It was hard, most days and after an outcome like that, it was even harder. But Ren had made him breakfast while he was in the shower, just a single fried egg on toast, with his brand new antidepressants and a glass of orange juice to wash it all down with. Not the healthiest, but certainly much better than the time he’d made six eggs into an omelette with bacon and ham, with two pieces of heavily buttered toast on the side and stayed long enough to make sure Strade had eaten it all, even though Strade had said he wasn’t hungry.

It was a rule, one they’d lain out right after Strade had gotten home.

  1. Strade eats as much or as little as he wants
  2. He eats what he wants
  3. No surprise meals
  4. No encouragement to eat
  5. No scales in their apartment
  6. Exercising is encouraged

The rules made Strade feel a little better, a little more sure in his food choices and in his own bodily autonomy. It felt nice to be in control of what he was eating on a day to day basis, after so long of pushing himself to be something he never would be.

Was Ren technically breaking a rule? Yes, but this was  _ different _ . It was nice, it was a kind thing Ren was doing. A  _ normal _ breakfast, maybe even a normal day. Where anxiety usually gripped his heart, he breathed a little easier, knowing Ren wasn’t waiting on him to finish some mystery amount of food. There was pressure off his shoulders and his mind, knowing that he wasn’t expected to do anything but recover; nothing but come back to himself.

Of course, his therapist had warned that this was a possibility, a near-euphoria or the opposite reaction, as his body balanced out the chemicals and hormones he’d been taking for just a little while. He didn’t  _ feel _ like this was fake, though. It was small enough to where he could still hear that nasty voice of his making fun of every move he made, but the voice was quieter, and he was able to combat it, instead of let it just… take over. Maybe it was temporary. He didn’t know. He didn’t  _ care _ . He was grateful for the quiet, no matter how temporary it may be.


	7. Chapter 7

Despite his initial nervousness about his telemarketing job, Strade was good at it. It was easy, there was a script, and he got hung up on most of the time anyway.

Life was getting easier. He was building confidence.

Living with Ren was easier too. They hadn’t had sex yet, but that was more due to their schedule differences than anything else. They kissed every morning before Ren went to work and they kissed every night, when Strade came home. They ate dinner together, hung out on the couch, and just… slowly got back to themselves. It was nice, felt natural, and they both realized how much they had missed each other.

Six months in, Strade was a little more balanced, and Ren was used to this new side of Strade, a Strade that wasn’t quick to explode, but wasn’t so quiet he barely made a sound. They’d  _ finally _ had sex, though Strade had made sure the lights were off. Just for his comfort, since it’d been so long. Ren had assured him, though, next time, and there  _ would _ be a next time, he wanted to see him.

Strade liked their power balance now. He was learning to let go of the expectation of being perfect, self imposed and strong as it was. It wasn’t easy, and he still had work to go, he knew that, but he  _ was _ getting better. He  _ was _ crawling his way out of that awful, dark place.

Taking compliments was hard. He knew they were genuine, especially coming from Ren, but there was always that voice, that  _ fucking _ voice just telling him he was worthless, and nothing he did or said was enough. It was getting easier, though, and that was what he focused on, when he felt like hiding himself in their room and never coming out again.

He’d started reading  _ positive _ messages online, finding places where he fit in, seeing body types like his represented. Before, he’d been looking in the wrong places, Ren had told him. They had worked on finding positive things for Strade to see and there were a few body positive places that had people of all sizes… even ones who looked like him.

Working out wasn’t as consistent as Strade had hoped. His body  _ ached _ after exercise, his whole body hurt and cramped up for days afterward. He’d expected his legs to hurt, and by far, they were the worst, but he hadn’t expected the stiffness and the pain his whole body felt when he did something as simple as gentle cardio. He’d gotten so frustrated he found himself back in their bed, wishing for  _ just one  _ of his painkillers. Ren had helped, though, gotten him out of bed and onto the couch, talking him through it and listening to Strade’s frustrations. His support gave Strade the energy to keep trying. It would’ve been so easy for Ren to let him give it up, especially with how he felt about Strade’s physique, but he didn’t.

That was another thing. Ren’s sweet touches had come back. He distracted Strade only a little while he made his lunches, little hands slipping around Strade’s wide body and revering wherever they fell. He leaned into Strade, gently swaying while Strade finished making his lunch, only letting his grip loosen when Strade turned and pressed an adoring kiss to the top of Ren’s head.

These little affections made that voice smaller, made it easier to ignore it as he went through his daily life.

Another year later and they were nearly back to the way they’d been before everything, before the ultimatum, before… everything. They were better now, better now that Strade had lost nearly 100 pounds, and was actively kickboxing again. He was still big, but he felt better, more normal, slightly more “acceptable”.

When he noticed that Ren had started picking up some of the weight he’d lost, Strade just smiled and kissed every bit, even when Ren told him to stop, giggling that he was ticklish. Ren put on weight attractively, in a pear shape, and Strade was sure to tell him, so Ren would never feel the way Strade had.

Even when Ren picked up more, enough to require a change of wardrobe, Strade never commented unless it was positive. Ren, of course, was happier with the weight than Strade had ever been with his, but he still had days where he wondered if Strade would hate it.

“I would never hate you. Or any part of you. You’re my everything.” Strade assured, lips resting on Ren’s head, pressing sweetly and firmly into his hair. “I love you.”

None of this was to say that everything was totally positive. As he worked out, he gained his strength back, gained confidence, too. He moved around easier, faster, and that had scared Ren on several occasions. Every time Strade noticed, he felt his stomach turn, and his mind react in ways he hadn’t expected. He got  _ angry _ . Irrationally, he knew, but nonetheless he couldn’t help it. Didn’t Ren know he was changed? He couldn’t imagine laying a hand on Ren now, couldn’t imagine fucking up like that again and losing his positive light.

They also had days where Strade just… refused to leave their bed. Couldn’t stop the thoughts and the pain, especially on days after he pushed himself too hard at the gym. It felt bad to lay there, but he couldn’t force himself up, couldn’t force the voice to quiet. Those were the days where he ate nothing, and Ren would come home and Strade would snap at him because he was hungry and too tired to sleep. Then, he’d apologize, and say he understood if Ren was done with him.

Ren would slide in next to him, assuring him he wasn’t leaving over a stupid fight, and that he loved Strade very much, even on his off days.

It added to the guilt Strade felt. Ren was so sweet, so accepting and loving. He stuck there, after everything, with Strade, when he could be with someone so,  _ so _ much better.

He’d only said, “You’re too good to me,” once during dinner, but Ren had caught it, and they’d talked about it.

“Why do you keep saying I’m too good for you? Or you’re not good enough for me? We’re the same, hon.” Ren was laying on Strade, arm thrown across the crest of his belly, Strade’s hand hooking itself on the belt loop or pocket of Ren’s jeans, their usual cuddling position, now that they’d both gained weight.

Strade shrugged. “You’re always so sweet. You’re smart, and you’ve loved me through all of… everything. I’ve never… had someone as supportive as you before, and… I didn’t… expect you to stick around. When we first met. Especially after I dropped out, I thought you’d drop me as soon as you could.”

After nibbling on his lower lip for a minute, he rested his head on Ren’s head. “After my accident, I was just…  _ so angry _ .” He sighed and stared at his belly, where Ren’s arm rested. “I lost everything.”

Ren moved his fingers in a limited circle. “What do you mean, Strade?”

“I didn’t have  _ you _ . Didn’t have anyone like you. My parents… didn’t know what to do with me. I’ve always had issues… with… the appropriate way to talk about things, or act about certain things I felt or did. They didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know any resources. To be fair, my therapist couldn’t find anything wrong with me either, aside from the depression. They speak English enough to get by, but they didn’t know how to find things pre-internet. That’s what they told me anyway. They knew soccer, knew futbol, obviously, but I wasn’t fast enough for that. Football… that was where I shined. I was good. I was  _ so good _ . Then my accident… and then I realized… that was  _ all _ I was good at. And losing that  _ hurt _ . It hurt so fucking bad.”

Strade hadn’t even talked about his accident with his therapist. They’d just… never had the time; not with the rest of Strade’s issues, the most pressing having been his body issues. Oh, and the suicidal ideation.

Ren urged Strade on with a gentle nuzzle. “What kind of issues did you have?”

“I was explosive. Surprising, right?” He snorted, and the way he smiled, not quite reaching his eyes, making the bags that lay beneath them seem more prominent than ever. “I was explosive, and I’d act out. I hit other kids, bit a few of them too. When I got into playing football, it was like I was  _ allowed _ to feel like that, let me be angry, for just a little while, and it  _ helped _ . I could make it through the day without hurting anyone, as long as I could do something that night. As long as I was practicing my throws, or running drills, I was good. I did well. I  _ focused _ and actually paid attention in my classes. My parents… they seemed happy with me.  _ I _ was happier with me. I was finally doing something  _ good _ and I was… excelling at it. When I got to college, I was supposed to play for the college team. When I had my accident, I didn’t lose my scholarship, but I couldn’t… It wasn’t the same. I’d try running drills, tackles, even my throws were off. It just made me… so  _ angry _ … to lose the only thing I’d ever been good at. I could play, but I was worse than I had been in middle school. I’d lost  _ months _ , maybe even years, just getting my muscles back into a useable condition, and… it was too much. I’d had months where all I could think of was playing. All I could think of was getting back to who I was. I was  _ determined _ at first… but when I wasn’t improving, when I was just  _ sucking and sucking _ … I gave up.”

His voice broke, then. “I settled for a degree in physical education. The college was nice enough to let me keep the scholarship. Being on campus, in the room I was supposed to be in when I was going to be a player… It was overwhelming to hear  _ my team _ run down the hall and know I couldn’t go with them. I couldn’t play with them. I  _ couldn’t _ be with them, all because of my stupid, fucked up body. I was alone. I was the same, but  _ separate _ .” If he noticed the tears that slowly fell down his face, he made no move to clear them. “I went to parties, trying to at least have  _ some _ fun, but drinking made me so angry, I started fights.”

Ren nodded, remembering the first time they’d met. It was at a party, and he’d thought Strade was a huge douche, starting fights just to get his ass handed to him. Talking after the fight, though, had shown Ren a different side… a side just  _ begging _ to be slept with, smooth and obviously attractive, though not stuck up. He’d said he fought because he thought he was good at it. Not because he was. Knowing the real reason made Ren sigh and bring one of those huge, soft hands to his lips.

“Like I said, I thought you’d be done with me after I dropped out. Who wants a dropout who couldn’t drop the freshman fifteen? Who wants someone who doesn’t know what the fuck they wanna do? Who wants a  _ loser _ going nowhere? But you hung around; and you made me happy. I still… had that temper, though. I still lost it. I still… but now, I didn’t have anything… to make it better. Sex was great, sex helped, but it wasn’t nearly enough.” A fresh flash of pain jerked at Ren’s heart, hearing Strade talk that way. “I  _ hated _ myself, because I’d thought it was fine, I thought I could stop. Then I  _ hurt you _ , and every time I hit you… It wasn’t  _ you _ , which I know doesn’t mean  _ shit _ ! It was me, it was always me, and I couldn’t handle it.”

Finally, he wiped his eyes with the hand Ren didn’t have pressed to his face. “I still… can’t. I don’t hit anymore, I know, but I’m always worried I’m going to, and it’s our  _ last chance _ . I can’t lose you, Ren. I really, really can’t. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Voice broken and gummy, Ren finally spoke, “You wouldn’t be so fat. You wouldn’t hate yourself so badly you wanted to die.”

“That’s  _ not _ on you.” The intensity in Strade’s voice as he looked down at Ren and scootched him closer made Ren a little weak. “That… I’ve  _ always _ hated myself. I can’t remember a time I wasn’t ashamed of myself for one thing or another.”

“Always?”

“Yeah. If it wasn’t my behavior, it was my body, or my grades, or my social skills. My mother, bless her, always worried that I didn’t make as many friends as my little sister did. She worried I’d be a linebacker.” He laughed, and in a strong German accent said, “You will never get married if you are fat, Strade darling. The temper they can ignore. No friends, girls will ignore. Not very smart? No matter, if you are good looking. Fat? Not if you have nothing else to bring.”

Horrified, Ren moved so he was sitting in Strade’s lap, however much he could fit into it, anyway, and stared Strade in the eye. “That’s  _ awful _ , Strade! What the fuck?”

“It’s just how she is. She’s right though, isn’t she? Only reason you stuck around at first was ‘cos I looked nice, even getting pudgy the way I was.” Strade refused to meet Ren’s eye. “Aside from football, that’s… all I had going for me. I was attractive,  _ if _ you ignored the pudge on my tummy.  _ If _ you didn’t notice how tight my pants were.”

“That’s not true. I stuck around because you were funny, and you made me smile. You were considerate on dates. I stuck around after you hit me because… I knew that wasn’t  _ you _ . It couldn’t be you. You were so nice, so sweet, considerate and… I dunno. I liked spending time with you.” Ren grabbed Strade’s chin and forced him to look. “Look at me. I  _ love you _ . I don’t just like you because you’re hot, or whatever. I love you because you’re you. You did so much for me, to make me happy, and no one else I’ve ever met has valued me as much as you have. You say no one has ever treated you the way I treated you? I’ve never been treated better in a relationship, when things were good. And yeah, you fucked up. You fucked up bad. But you changed. And you’ve been… I did some really fucked up things too. I ignored some pretty big fuckin hints. I didn’t  _ miss them _ , either. I ignored them. I ignored your obvious insecurities. I thought you were fine. Or maybe it was a grab for attention. I never thought… I thought if I ignored it, you’d be fine. You’d grow out of it, or grow into it. I’d hoped you’d grow to love the weight. But I never showed you I loved it, and I  _ do _ love it. I just think you’re the sexiest fucking person alive, but that’s  _ not _ why I’ve stayed.”

Tears renewed, Strade closed his eyes and let them fall. Ren placed a hand on either side of Strade’s pudgy face and wiped the tears as they streamed down his round cheeks. “I love you. I fucking love you. I’m sorry for being a dick and a shitty boyfriend. You deserved so much better than I gave you. You sacrificed so much. You did so much for me, and I ignored how it was making you feel. I’m so, so sorry. So. We’re even.”

“We’re not  _ even _ . We’re not even  _ close _ to even. I almost murdered you. I could’ve killed you. You had  _ bruises _ .”

“You tried to… you. You thought I’d be happier without you. That the  _ world _ would be happier without you. I… I almost killed you too. So. We’re even.” Admitting it out loud, Ren lost the strength that had made him crawl up onto Strade’s lap. He lost the strength to keep himself up, and he fell forward, hoping Strade wouldn’t be angry, hoping he’d accept Ren, accept his apology, and accept the way he felt.

He didn’t have to worry. Strade wrapped his thick, warm arms around Ren and settled into the couch. They stayed like that for a while.

It wasn’t perfect. They’d never be perfect, but they wanted each other. They needed each other, Ren knew. No one else would love Ren the same way, with the same intensity that Strade loved him. On another level, he also knew Strade was unstable. He might always be that way, and that was something he’d have to deal with. He wasn’t sure if he was up for that, but everything was good for now. Things could change the next day. Things might never change. That was all up in the air, but for the moment, Ren was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might end up adding to this, but for now, this is the end of the series? I'd like to add in a little more fluff, to somehow offset the sheer amount of angst, but this may not ever be picked up again. Thank y'all for reading and enjoying!

**Author's Note:**

> So this was very therapeutic to write, and I found myself crying a lot through the whole thing. Thank you for reading!


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